


Chicken Soup for the Soul

by mindshelter



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: F/M, Fluff, one of the universe's unspoken rules: thou shalt not let peter parker attend homecoming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-19
Updated: 2019-10-19
Packaged: 2020-12-24 10:29:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,762
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21097988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mindshelter/pseuds/mindshelter
Summary: “Oh, geezLouise, MJ,” Peter tuts with a shit-eating grin. “If you needed me to bring a biohazard disposal you could’ve just asked.”Before MJ can dignify that with a response, an unwelcome tickle creeps up her nose and Peter watches with what she can only describe as rapture as her face twists.She sneezes.Peter laughs.or;peter missesyet anotherhomecoming night. (his date has a cold.)





	Chicken Soup for the Soul

“Oh, geez _Louise_, MJ,” Peter tuts with a shit-eating grin. “If you needed me to bring a biohazard disposal you could’ve just asked.”

Before MJ can dignify that with a response, an unwelcome tickle creeps up her nose and Peter watches with what she can only describe as rapture as her face twists.

She sneezes.

Peter, who had the audacity to come in looking fresh as a daisy, laughs.

“No, seriously — I have them,” he says, watching MJ paw for another tissue from where she’s reclining on the love seat. She surrounded by dirty Kleenex, and her nostrils have been rubbed raw from all the times she’s had to clear her nose of snot. It’s pretty nasty. “I dispose of my bandages and suture kits very responsibly.”

MJ huffs, frowning, and her boyfriend’s face softens. He snakes his way out his backpack and sets it down — and it must be heavy, because it makes a _thunk_ noise when it drops against the hardwood floor. Peter takes light steps towards her, crouching down.

A cool hand rests on her forehead. It’s a welcome feeling, because she’s been nursing a fever since yesterday and it’s only let up a little.

“Hey, nerd.”

“How are you?” Peter asks. “Better than before?” 

“A bit.” Her nose is still clogged to oblivion and her headache makes her temples thrum with low-grade pain, but it’s not debilitating as it had been last night. MJ had slept in fits that left her waking up while it was still dark out, sweat clinging to her hair and clothes.

She felt better in the morning, but the exhaustion just led to her napping throughout the day. One moment her brother was setting a bowl of eggs next to her bedside before rushing out to work, morning streaming through her blinds, and the next Peter is crawling in through the fourth floor window and it’s half past five, the sky turning gold and orange. 

Pointing at his bag, MJ says, “What’s in there, anyway? Rocks?”

Peter smiles. “Cans, actually. Cans of soup. Haute cuisine — à la Campbell’s, coming your way!”

“We love a chef,” MJ murmurs.

Peter squeezes her shoulder. “I’m gonna use the kitchen to make you some food, ‘kay? Hang tight.”

He gives her twin finger guns.

“Don't worry; I'm not going anywhere,” MJ says.

_

Peter is back about twenty minutes later with a bowl of chicken noodle soup. It’s a hearty pile of food with extra pasta noodles, onions and carrots thrown in. He’s scooped some for himself too, his portion ridiculously massive to compensate for his metabolism.

“Did you eat today?”

MJ shrugs. “Wasn’t sure I could keep it down,” she says. In truth, her nausea’s fine — she’d just felt too tired to move or eat. Or do anything, really. “Does watching cooking ASMR count?”

“Uhhh, no.” 

MJ shifts to give Peter some space to sit with her. He settles in and says, “Wow, you are really warm. Like a furnace.”

Even as she props her head against his side, she does it with no small amount of uncertainty. “Are you sure you want to be this close to me right now? I’m, like, 90 percent mucus.”

“That’s generous, but it’s more like 87 percent, I think,” Peter says. He puts an arm around her, and they watch the steam rise from the food on the coffee table. “And I told you; I don’t really get sick.”

Something inside her swells. Maybe it’s her heart. Or something.

“The ‘really’ there is kind of worrying.”

“Well, there’s probably some mutant virus out there that might get mutant me one day — who knows? But the common cold is no big deal." 

“If you say so,” MJ says, voice nasally. “This sucks.”

“I’m sorry you’re sick.” Peter’s thumb runs across her knuckles.

MJ gulps. “And it sucks that you’re missing the homecoming dance again — and it’s our last one,” she says. “I’m sorry we couldn’t go.” 

Peter had been chattering about it since they started hanging up posters and banners around the halls and cafeteria to promote the event, whispering about it to Ned with the excitement of a kid waiting by the window for the ice-cream truck jingle.

As annoying as it had been to watch Peter quit AcaDec and come back only to continue to ditch, skipping class with a poor excuse and one foot already out of the door – that had been Peter from sophomore year. This Peter is pulled in multiple directions at any given moment and peeved about it. He wouldn’t ever _not_ make himself useful where he can be, but he wants some normalcy too, to balance it all out.

Homecoming is a bit of a sore spot for him, and senior year was his last chance to get it right. He’d spent the week leading up to the dance checking in regularly with what's left of SHIELD, keeping a close eye on suspicious activity in the city to snuff out any kindling fires before they became full, vicious blazes. 

So, when MJ woke up Thursday morning feeling like rotting, mouldy sludge, she had gotten decently frustrated on his behalf. 

“What,” Peter says, “don’t apologize for that.”

Her hand turns over so that she can lace their fingers together. “You were so pumped, though — I just? Feel kind of bad.”

“Duh I was pumped — to go with _you_,” Peter says with the closest thing he has to a no-nonsense tone. “I’m still spending time with my date.” 

“Oh, and I bet this is riveting and fun.”

“Well, no,” Peter says honestly. “I’m not gonna be that sappy. I know you don’t like that.”

She sighs and wriggles out his hold to grab her bowl, mercifully not filled to the brim because her hands aren’t the steadiest right now. Peter follows suit and grabs his literal tub of noodles, digging in immediately.

The soup warms her insides and the hot air clears her sinuses – not completely, but it’s transforming her from roadkill to... mildly refreshed roadkill. 

Between bites of noodles and obnoxiously loud slurping, Peter says, “Like, seriously. You look very, very sick. Like those off-colour green olives you can get at the self-serve stands in grocery stores —”

“You hate olives.” 

“They're so rubbery! It's just squeaky brine!”

She snorts, and he grins at her before shovelling another bite of pasta into his mouth. MJ takes smaller sips, still testing the waters with her stomach. Not everyone has the appetite of a whale.

They eat in quietly for a few minutes, MJ stopping every few bites to blow her nose or cough, though the broth is salty enough to soothe her throat. 

After a while, she says, “You told me about how — you struggle with your two identities?”

Peter swallows a mouthful and tips his chin up as a gesture to continue. 

“It’s a classic work-life balance kind of thing, but more — you, I suppose. More Peter-y.” His lips turn up at that. “And you value both. You know I respect what you do as Spider-man — I wouldn’t have it any other way —”

“I know,” Peter says, sounding content.

“Right. It’s who you are, but the trade-off is that you patrol at night when you could be relaxing or hanging out with your friends, you’re not in as many clubs as you used to be, and you’re so tired, all the time.”

“Says Miss Eyebags. Where’d you get those, anyway? Chanel?” 

MJ ignores that. “I know you’ve been through a lot. Not the exact details — but you didn’t deserve the shit that happened to you. You _do_ deserve to go to a silly high school dance if you want to, though, and I — I want to be there with you.”

“Awww,” Peter coos, but his smile is wobbly, and his eyes are shining the way they do when he’s particularly touched. “I’d hug you right now but you literally have a bowl of hot liquid on your lap.” 

“I would’ve liked to go,” he adds, “but seriously. I’d prefer spending the night with my girlfriend anyway while she powers through her Kleenex boxes. Which is happening at a staggering rate, by the way. You’re so powerful.”

Fishing out a chunk of carrot, she brings it to her mouth and lets the vegetable sit there for a moment, tasting the sweet earthy notes sitting on her tongue before chewing.

MJ’s never struggled with telling the truth, but Peter has a way of letting nerves trample over her usual bluntness. She’s entered a situation where she cares what he thinks of her and it’s been a learning curve ever since.

“You’re a,” MJ starts, “a good boyfriend. Thanks. For being here. And for all this.” She gestures to her dinner.

Then, she moves the bowl off her lap and sets it back on the lacquered wood of the table. Peter catches on quickly and does the same to his, and soon they’re in each other’s arms, soaking in each other’s warmth, toasty and comfortable.

They sit in place for a while, slotted together before MJ wrinkles her nose once more. 

She shoves him away with lightning speed, turning to face the other direction as fast as she can.

A loud sneeze fills the living room. It's probably audible in the hallways too.

Behind her, Peter honest-to-God starts giggling.

“Bless you,” he says, mirthful. 

“Uuuugh.”

_

Later, they're still glued to the couch, intent on letting the cushions slowly engulf them. MJ has her back resting resting on Peter's stomach, her boyfriend sandwiched between the faux-leather arm of the couch and herself. Gentle yellow light drifts from the gooseneck lamp on the end table behind Peter's head, emanating a glow that curves around the contours of the living room, softening each plane instead of adding contrast. Threads of sunlight form a border around everything, even as MJ's body grows heavier by the minute.

Her eyelids are heavy, the audio from whatever episode of _Worth It_ playing from Peter's laptop speakers fading in and out of focus. 

“So, Halloween is soon.”

MJ yawns, smacking her lips a few times. “It is.”

“Morgan wants to go trick or treating in the city — she’s never done it before, can you believe that — and I was thinking that we could take her? Ned's coming too — he's not handing out candy this year.”

That sounds good. MJ likes Morgan — she thinks someone would honestly need to have a heart as shrivelled as a black peppercorn not to. So, she says, “Sure.”

“That’s _sick_,” Peter says, infinitely pleased with himself. MJ flicks his forehead.

**Author's Note:**

> i've been busy so i haven't gotten much writing done as of late, so this is a warm-up of sorts before i jump back to my other projects! i hope this was nice : )
> 
> this can be canon compliant or fit into the same universe as growing together. choose ur own adventure
> 
> thanks for reading! 
> 
> [my tumblr.](http://www.mindshelter.tumblr.com/)


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